


Little Red Dot

by Sincerely_Sierra



Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: Blood, F/F, Feminist Themes, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Menstruation, Periods, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, mentions of abuse, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29187993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincerely_Sierra/pseuds/Sincerely_Sierra
Summary: Gwendolyn helps Mildred unlearn the shame she feels surrounding her periods.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Comments: 6
Kudos: 80





	Little Red Dot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emmas_storybook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmas_storybook/gifts).



> This was requested, so I thought, let me do it, because I’m a sucker for these two lesbians. I’ve watched Ratched 33 times already. Just saying. 
> 
> This diverges slightly from canon, because this is set right after Mildred moves into Gwendolyn’s house but in this work, she moves in just to move in, not because Gwendolyn has cancer. I couldn’t do that to Gwendolyn. I couldn’t be as evil as the writers. And I’m 90% sure Gwendolyn dies eventually in the series, because that would surely make Mildred go insane like the nurse we see in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. 
> 
> Anyways, mentions of abuse and Mildred’s past, period blood, blah blah. If you have a prompt or idea, you can leave it in a comment here or reach out to me on Instagram @blessedbethexanax. I do not have Tumblr but I’m on Instagram yelling at anti-choicers on my off days, all day. Come and scream at me on there if you want. I’ll gift the work to you if it was your prompt/idea. 
> 
> —Sincerely, Sierra

The governor had fired her, and for some reason, she didn’t care. Her mother had prepared her childhood bed for her, and she didn’t pack up and run to her with what little dignity she had left. Trevor was miles away with his newfound love, and as much as she still loved him with every inch of herself because being a best friend for so many years would do that to someone, it didn’t hurt not to have him at every turn.

She had Mildred, and Mildred was the effort of a million people wrapped into one gorgeous package. The first week Mildred stayed with Gwendolyn was luminous. Something akin to flowers and sugar blended together and exploded into the air like bombs on a beach. Mildred smelled of cigarettes and peaches and those long summer nights under a blanket of stars, and she left that scent between the sheets and all the blankets she and Gwendolyn huddled beneath to keep warm when the fire smoldered out. 

One dreary Wednesday morning, eleven days after falling into the safety of Gwendolyn’s arms, Mildred awakened herself with a jolt. She clutched the top sheet to her chest, finding it to be damp and warm compared to the room. The fire was out again, leaving nothing but a chill in the air. The Californian climate was a beautiful 50-something degrees with a forecast of clouds and rain for days, and Mildred scowled. 

Gwendolyn was asleep, having not yet been disturbed by Mildred’s kicking and relentless shifting during the night. Mildred laid back against the pillows and took a few moments to catch her breath. Her nightgown clung to her bodice like glue, and the stickiness left on her skin reminded her of the dewy spring mornings in April on her way to school; not hot, not cold, not dry, not wet. Just damp and humid. 

She’d been dreaming of Edmund again. It seemed as though he would never leave her mind, and part of it was her fault for looking at him a second too long when she’d noticed him driving outside the gates of Lucia State Hospital. The hungry, sodden look in his eyes haunted her since that day, and she frequently awakened from the outline of his cherub-like face hovering above her, pinning her down by her fragile shoulders as she cried, in vain, for Gwendolyn to rescue her. 

Waking up next to Gwendolyn each morning was as close to heaven as Mildred would ever get, if heaven were such a real place, she decided. She had decided years ago that she believed in nothing, not even love. But Gwendolyn made her believe. Not in heaven or hell, angels or demons, but in love and a future. 

So when Mildred realized, when a sharp, hedonistic pain hit her lower abdomen, that she was dangerously close to her red-headed aunt dropping in for her four-day visit, she couldn’t help but press her thighs together and hold her belly with one hand. 

Almost too terrified to move off the bed in fear of staining it, Mildred froze. The room grew cold and frigid, and she laid back against the pillows. Her ankles crossed and the pain only alleviated a bit when she curled into the fetal position. Something was drumming away at her insides like children to the best of Pat-a-Cake. If she could have ripped her uterus out with her bare hands, just reached in there and twisted and pulled it out and framed it like a medallion, she could sleep uninterrupted, for once. 

It felt childish and somewhat degrading when her thumb found her mouth. She stopped at her lips, her fingernail the only barrier between her thumb and such an infantile action. Thumb-sucking was a pastime she’d only divulged in during her childhood to shut out the sounds of a couple arguing, children screaming, and her bruised body aching. She hadn’t done it in so long that she’d forgotten how it felt to lull herself to sleep using her thumb, like an infant needing to suckle milk.

But Gwendolyn was too close. If she were to awaken, she’d be face-to-face with Mildred indulging in such a hedonistic, childish behavior, and she wouldn’t want her anymore then, would she?

Mildred waited three minutes before deciding her body couldn’t handle much more. She rolled out of bed and waddled into the adjoined bathroom with her thighs together, pressed so hard that she throbbed. The sound of the door closing relieved Mildred as she hiked up her nightgown and pushed her white silk panties down to her ankles. Well, they were mostly white. The devastating red stain in the center blinked back at her the same way she blinked at it, and it was ironic that this red, little spot sounded off an alarm in her head.

In all her years of menstruating, she’d always been prepared; a Tampax sneaking away in her dress pocket, an aspirin tucked inside her coin purse. But she always menstruated in her own home, or wherever she ended up. She was accustomed to being alone during this time of the month, and without a Tampax or anything suitable to soak up the blood flowing from her body, she had found herself floundering. 

What if Gwendolyn noticed the blood? What if she noticed Mildred’s scrunched face and the way she groaned and grunted with every movement? What if she dipped between Mildred’s legs and was met with the metallic scent that made Mildred’s stomach churn? Gwendolyn would pack up Mildred’s belongings and set them outside with Mildred, locking her out until the crimson became brown and the Tampax left her body white and clean, until her vulva no longer smelled like coins in someone’s hand. 

Mildred quickly rinsed her underwear in the sink. The red swirled down the drain in whirlpools, but her panties were ruined with a faded red stain that would only absolve with a hot washing in the machine. But Gwendolyn couldn’t see that! How disgusting would it be for Gwendolyn to find bloody panties in her laundry basket? 

As Mildred wrung them out like she were strangling a cat, the sensation of fluid trickling down her thigh halted her movements, and her heart thudded wildly in her chest as if she’d just awakened from yet another haunting nightmare of Edmund. Swallowing, she threw her soaked underwear into the waste basket and used a bit of toilet paper to conceal the evidence. 

She used a warm, wet cloth doused in a bit of soap to wash away the red line seeping down her inner thigh. The cloth rinsed out nicely with scalding water and left little to nothing behind, even when she used her thumb to hook it around and gently wipe her vulva clean. It was almost painful, in a way; not that menstruation should hurt there, but it ached slightly when the damp coarseness of the cloth prodded at her opening. 

Wiping and scrubbing would not suffice more than a few minutes, Mildred had already decided. She needed a Tampax, and goddamnit, she didn’t bring any, because her cycle was the last thing on her mind when Gwendolyn opened her home to her. 

Gwendolyn surely had to have something of use hiding somewhere. Or maybe she didn’t. Gwendolyn never spoke of having a regular cycle, and even if she had, Mildred would have been too apprehensive to speak on it. 

The medicine cabinet was full of, well, anything except medicine. There were a few hair ties, a bottle of vitamins that looked oddly like gummy bears, maybe a spider or two. Defeated, Mildred’s shoulders slumped forward as she closed the cabinet.

There just had to be something Mildred could use to sop up the blood. She opened the under sink cabinet where Gwendolyn housed her towels, and a sigh of relief blew from her mouth as she unearthed a box of Tampax. She tore at the box like a starved child, ripping one open quietly as to not announce to the universe that she was menstruating. 

Inserting it brought forth relief to Mildred’s body. For one reason or another, the pressure of a Tampax alleviated a bit of her pain and allowed her muscles to relax. She sighed again as her uterus began to wind down, and then she returned to the bedroom, finding Gwendolyn sat up as she rubbed her eyes. 

“Darling,” yawned Gwendolyn. “How long have you been awake?” 

Mildred paused in the doorway of the bathroom, her hand resisting an urge to rub her abdomen. Gwendolyn gained her sight and reached out for the younger woman, and Mildred blindly found her way to her. A pair of arms enveloped Mildred, and she breathed quietly, nestling her face into Gwendolyn’s shoulder. 

Sitting in Gwendolyn’s lap, Mildred froze again, wondering if, just maybe, Gwendolyn could smell her menses. Could she feel it gushing the same way Mildred could if she moved an inch too far to the left? Could she feel the ache in her hips the same way Mildred could? Were they already bound together in such a way that could be felt through a red cord, pulsating between them so painfully? 

“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Gwendolyn pointed out. She pressed a kiss to the side of Mildred’s head. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Mildred murmured, her arms wrapping around Gwendolyn’s neck as she hid her face in the crook of it. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” 

Gwendolyn held her that way for awhile, until her thigh began to tingle like static. She rubbed Mildred’s back and pulled away. The morning sunlight began to bleed into the room then, finally breaking free of the clouds. Mildred knew it wouldn’t last. It never lasted.

“You must be hungry,” Gwendolyn said. “You hardly ate last night.”

Mildred had severe cramps last night, and they had forced her to forgo her chicken and potatoes and favor a cup of tea. But Gwendolyn could not know that, so Mildred shrugged. 

“I’m not that hungry,” Mildred finally replied. 

“Oh? Why don’t we make some pancakes,” Gwendolyn offered Mildred. “You can put your favorite sprinkles in, if you’d like.” 

Well, if she was offering sprinkles. . .Mildred assumed it couldn’t hurt to have a bite. Gwendolyn lifted Mildred off her lap, and almost instinctively, the latter took a look at Gwendolyn’s pajama pants, finding them to be clean. She sighed and took Gwendolyn’s hand, already pulling her to the staircase. 

They made pancakes together. Gwendolyn preferred chocolate to sprinkles, and she watched, almost aghast, how Mildred tipped the entire contents of the sprinkle jar into the batter. The colors mixed with the batter, and Mildred used a scraper to blend it enough so the sprinkles were evenly distributed. Gwendolyn couldn’t help but laugh at the way Mildred licked the scraper after she felt thoroughly satisfied with the monstrosity she’d created. 

“Good?” Gwendolyn asked. 

“Mm,” came the only response from Mildred as she licked her lips. 

“Trevor’s recipe, without the sprinkles,” Gwendolyn chuckled. “Let’s cook them, hm?”

Gwendolyn’s pancakes were perfectly circular. Mildred’s were perfectly obtuse and abstract.One looked like a heart with an extra heart growing outside of it, the other looked similar to a goblin. Gwendolyn loved them all the same, and she loved Mildred all the same, but when Mildred would not take a bite, she frowned.

“Darling, what’s the matter?” asked Gwendolyn. “I hear your stomach. You’re starved.” 

“I’m still not hungry. I’m sorry.” Mildred’s apology bled into Gwendolyn’s heart as those big eyes looked so longingly at her. 

“No need to apologize,” Gwendolyn said gently, her hand roaming across the table to grab Mildred’s. “I can freeze yours and you can have them later, when you want to eat. How does that sound?” 

“Lovely,” said Mildred, with a watery smile. “Thank you.”

Gwendolyn finished her pancakes, the sprinkles a bit too sweet for her taste, and she watched Mildred fiddle with her silverware until she became bored with looking at herself in the rounded part of the spoon. They cleaned up together, with Mildred offering to wash the dishes and clean up the batter she’d spilled on the counter. Gwendolyn gave Mildred’s sides an affectionate squeeze, and Mildred couldn’t help but suck in a sharp breath, slightly doubling over the counter. 

“Are you okay, darling? Did I hurt you?” Gwendolyn fussed. She rubbed Mildred’s sides where she’d previously made her groan. “Where does it hurt?”

Everything hurt. Mildred’s breasts felt full and heavy, her uterus screamed and cramped, her hips burned with each step. But Gwendolyn couldn’t know that. She couldn’t discover Mildred’s red dot. So Mildred remained silent and stared at the suds in the sink, her hands curling around the edge as she battled the spoon slamming against her insides. She was at that moment in her cycle where she could almost feel her uterus twisting and wringing out blood like a sodden cloth. 

“Darling?” Gwendolyn repeated. “Where does it hurt?” 

“My back.” It wasn’t a complete lie; Mildred’s back did in fact ache, but it wasn’t the largest source of pain this time. 

“Oh, my poor angel,” Gwendolyn cooed. “Would you like for me to rub it? I could give you a massage.” 

A massage sounded divine, but what would Gwendolyn think if she discovered she’d been massaging the back of a menstruating woman? Mildred didn’t want Gwendolyn to strike her for it the same way her foster parents did when she ran out of the bathroom in tears with blood seeping down her legs. 

Then, Mildred simply leaned into Gwendolyn, the older woman immediately welcoming her weight into her arms, loving on her, deciding to give her her head all the kisses she thought—no, knew—she deserved. Mildred was quieter than a mouse in Gwendolyn’s arms. She curled into her, inhaled her scent of lavender and menthol and faint cigarette smoke, nestled against her shoulder, and Gwendolyn swayed them back and forth as she ran a hand along Mildred’s back. 

“You must be tired,” Gwendolyn stated. It was blatant, full of certainty. “I felt you tossing and turning last night.” 

Mildred froze, and Gwendolyn melted her with a few more kisses to her cheek, marveling at the way Mildred eased into her so beautifully and smoothly, like butter on a hot skillet; sizzling, smoking, and then easing out. 

“I’m sorry,” Mildred murmured. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s all right, darling,” said Gwendolyn. “Were you hurting last night? Did you have a nightmare?”

Mildred lied again when she shook her head. Gwendolyn didn’t like liars, and Mildred didn’t want to upset Gwendolyn anymore. Mildred felt selfish, felt deceiving, especially when Gwendolyn began leaving a trail of kisses down her neck, taking time to work her way back up to Mildred’s head, where she lingered for a moment, taking in Mildred’s light scent. Mildred’s knees weakened, and she wanted to fall into Gwendolyn and let her carry her away.

“You’re so sweet,” cooed Gwendolyn. Something interesting came to mind, and the subsequent question almost startled Mildred. “Do you like to organize things, darling?”

Something warm bursted inside Mildred. Mildred loved to organize, to sort, to categorize. She could sit for hours organizing anything by different categories until it looked sane enough to stop. But her near addiction to organization had earned her slaps and kicks, and she didn’t want to add to the many scars littering her body, so she meekly shrugged her shoulders.

“I’m only asking because I would like to take a day to throw some things away and clean up,” said Gwendolyn. “I don’t particularly enjoy having to organize things. It feels like a chore. You’re more than welcome to, if you’d like.” 

Mildred paused her swaying, her hands never leaving Gwendolyn’s back. Her head rested against Gwendolyn’s shoulder, and the older woman carefully pulled away so she could see Mildred.

“Hey,” said Gwendolyn, “you can do what you like. Are you afraid you might face consequences if you organize things? No need for that, darling. How about we take a hot bath and start cleaning up? I’ll let you organize all the records and books. How’s that sound?”

A burning ache of desire filled Mildred. A hot bath sounded heavenly, but the pressure of the Tampax inside of her sent her floating back to the reality of the situation, and she shuddered. 

“No bath, please,” squeaked Mildred. 

Gwendolyn stopped a moment to think. After a few minutes of contemplating why Mildred would reject something they’d done and had enjoyed before, Gwendolyn left a kiss on Mildred’s cheek and gently squeezed her side. 

“Okay, darling. No bath,” Gwendolyn assured. “I’m going to do some laundry and take out the trash. Why don’t we both get dressed, and you can start organizing?” 

“I would like that.” 

Mildred could not fathom how Gwendolyn understood everything about her. She didn’t understand how Gwendolyn could feel what she was feeling at any given moment. She didn’t know how Gwendolyn could read her mind. Did she know Mildred was bleeding? 

The couple dressed themselves in a comfortable but decent clothes and threw their pajamas into the laundry basket. Mildred sat downstairs in front of the bookcase and used her index to browse them, finding one of interest. She flipped through the pages like a curious child, but when she noticed how enfeebling the words were, she closed it with haste and placed it back into the empty space. 

Mildred continued to sort through the books, indecisive about which ones would go where. She couldn’t decide if color or size meant anything at all. Alphabetizing would be frustratingly long and tedious. Upset with herself, Mildred removed the books row by row, until they were in a pile at her feet. The amount was insurmountable and staggeringly devastating. 

She spent an hour sorting the books by genre—based on the diluted summaries—and size. She did her best to alphabetize but became too flustered after the letter F, and she forfeited. Her stomach hurt from sitting so long, her uterus began to cramp again, and she needed a painkiller. Once the books were categorized up to the letter J, Mildred took a break, finding herself exhausted and in such pain. Her Tampax probably needed changing, and she was probably on the verge of bleeding through her clothes. 

Mildred sat quietly in the pile of leftover books, a hand cradling her lower abdomen. Her belly felt bloated and full despite not having anything to eat in almost a full day. She felt like a balloon swollen with water, and she was angry at herself for not being able to release it. 

“Mildred,” Gwendolyn called as her voice descended the stairs. “Darling?”

Mildred quickly returned to organizing the books, her back turned. Gwendolyn’s footfalls approached and Mildred flinched. The older woman stood behind Mildred, her head tilted as she watched Mildred’s fingers fumble around in an attempt to place them neatly with the spines perfectly aligned with each other.

“Mildred? Look at me, darling,” said Gwendolyn. 

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Mildred turned on her knees and felt her own eyes flutter open, only to find Gwendolyn holding a pair of white underwear with a red stain. Mortified with herself, Mildred covered her mouth, tears springing to life in her eyes as she whimpered and scooted away. 

“I’m so sorry,” Mildred sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

Gwendolyn kneeled before Mildred, but it seemed as though she’d come too close for comfort, because Mildred immediately pushed herself back until she was firm against the wall. 

The frightened thirteen-year-old Mildred Ratched had been resurrected from the throes of Mildred’s mind, terrified, telling her to hide, to run, to protect herself from the slaps and beatings that were certain to follow. 

_Please don’t hit me. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to. Don’t hurt me! I’m sorry!_

Mildred hadn’t known she was crying until she felt the warmth at her chin and the salt touch her lips. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Gwendolyn assured, or at least attempted to assure. “Why did you throw these away? They aren’t ruined. I can easily remove this stain.” 

Mildred blinked. Her chest barely moved up and down, because she couldn’t breathe properly. Watching Gwendolyn touch those godawful things with her bare hands, touching the stain of Mildred’s sin as if it were holy water, it disgusted Mildred. How could Gwendolyn even look at it without vomiting? 

“Mildred? Talk to me, darling. I’m not angry,” Gwendolyn cooed. “Come here.” 

Mildred’s tears only stopped then. Gwendolyn gave a warm and comforting smile, and she extended her hand and offered Mildred a place in her lap, which the younger woman crawled her way over to and hesitantly sat in with the disposition of a terrified, fragile child needing to be held. So Gwendolyn held her, loved her, gave her kisses and squeezes, until she floated back down to earth and felt present again. 

“You’re menstruating,” declared Gwendolyn. “Your little red dot, as my mother would call it.”

“I’m sorry, Gwen,” whimpered Mildred. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I’m so disgusting.”

“No. You’re a woman,” said Gwendolyn. “It’s just blood. It’s very normal and healthy. Your body is supposed to do this every month. I would be concerned if it didn’t.”

“But no one is supposed to know,” Mildred stated bitterly. “No one can know I’m bleeding. I’ll get in trouble.” 

Gwendolyn frowned and let her hand rest against Mildred’s belly. Mildred winced slightly and laid her head on Gwendolyn’s chest, the sound of her heart lulling her into a tranquility she only ever felt with Gwendolyn. She’d never known such peace before Gwendolyn. 

“Why do you say that?” asked Gwendolyn. “Why would you ever think you would get in trouble for something so natural?”

“Because. . .” Mildred hiccuped. “Because I did. When I was thirteen, I used the bathroom and I saw blood. I was so scared. It was going down my thighs and my pubic hair was sticking together. I thought I was going to die. So I ran to find my foster mother. My foster parents then. . .they were deeply religious, had a lot of kids. Six of them, and then me, and she was pregnant again. Their oldest kids were all boys, the two little ones were girls, twins, so I guess they hadn’t had to deal with that sort of thing yet.” 

Gwendolyn squeezed Mildred’s sides, encouraging her to continue even if it ached so terrible to recall the awful things the monsters had done to her so many years ago. Squeezing always seemed to bring Mildred back to the present, ripping her away from the agony in the back of her mind.

“My foster mother scolded me, told me not to speak of it. She hit me with a rolling pin, screaming at me, saying I was going to corrupt her sons for exposing my blood to them. I didn’t know it was bad,” Mildred murmured. 

“It’s not bad,” Gwendolyn corrected. 

“But it was in that house. It was very bad. She told me to deal with it, not to tell anyone about it ever again. God would punish me if I did, because I was unclean and disgusting.” A tear fell from Mildred’s eye. Gwendolyn wiped it away. “I didn’t know what to do with my underwear, so I threw it away. My foster father found them. He beat me and pulled my hair for leaving the evidence where his sons could find it. He told me that I couldn’t go to school or leave the house like that, that I had to stay home to avoid contaminating places with my blood. They went to church the next day and left me home. I didn’t care. I hated church. But when they got back, they found out I had bled on my sheets because I bled through the Kotex. They hit me again and again.”

Gwendolyn hugged Mildred close, bringing her head to her chest. Her anger almost crippled her. She wanted nothing more than to strangle the family who’d done so much damage to Mildred, although it seemed that had been all of them. 

“When I stopped bleeding, I thought I was better,” Mildred sniffled. “But weeks later, it happened again. It hurt this time. A lot. I didn’t tell anyone, but I ran out of Kotex and just bled on my clothes. My foster parents locked me in a closet for days, until I stopped bleeding. They would let me out every few hours to use the bathroom and try to keep myself clean. They didn’t let me eat or drink much. I was tired, hungry, and thirsty. There was a light in the closet. They left it on for me so I could read the Bible they’d given me. They had circled some verses that were very violent, like when God flooded the earth, and when Eve ate the apple. I was scared that would happen to me if I kept bleeding.” 

Gwendolyn held Mildred. She let her cry and sob. She let her snuggle against her body and hold her for comfort, using her as a security blanket and a pacifier. 

“I’m so sorry, darling,” Gwendolyn cooed. “I’m so sorry they were so hateful to you, over something so natural, at that. Humans are created because of menstruation. Without this blood, we wouldn’t be here. In fact, it’s the only blood not shed from violence or a result of pain. It’s the only natural blood there is.” 

Was it really natural? Was it really something to be unashamed of? Gwendolyn was still holding the soiled underwear in her hand, so that was something. 

“This blood,” Gwendolyn began softly, referring to the underwear she was clutching, “is perfectly normal. You should never feel like it’s disgusting or something to hide. I’m not repulsed by you. I’m still holding you. I will still touch you, as long as you want it. I would even make love to you this way, if you wanted. I’ve tasted blood before. It’s not bad.”

A burning fire red color exploded across Mildred’s body as those words sent a shudder rippling through her body. Gwendolyn chuckled and gave Mildred’s head a kiss. The younger woman nestled her face in Gwendolyn’s breast and made herself comfortable there. 

“You’re part of the moon and tides,” said Gwendolyn. “They love you as much as I do.”

A few heartbeats passed on like water. Mildred lifted her head, her swollen eyes meeting Gwendolyn’s soft ones. 

“Gwen? You have a lot of books,” Mildred said. 

Gwendolyn chuckled. “So I do.” 

“But I noticed you don’t have a Bible,” observed Mildred. “Why’s that? All the houses I went to. . .they had one. Or a million.”

Gwendolyn squeezed Mildred’s arm and supported her back with her palm. “I grew up Catholic. My mother was able to separate her religion from my sexuality, but everywhere I went, every time I went to church to worship the god I’d once confided in, I was reminded by our priest that what I was, what I am, was a sin. One time, when I was nineteen, I was caught with another girl out in the cemetery behind our church. She was Catholic, too. It was only innocent, two young women testing our limits with each other. When our church discovered us, they threw rocks and told us to leave or we’d burn. I left the church and the religion altogether after that incident. Never returned.”

“So what do you believe in?” Mildred asked. 

“The moon and tides,” Gwendolyn replied surely. “Although, I can’t say I abandoned spirituality completely. Just religion. Sometimes, I think I still believe in a god, but not the god that told me I’d burn. There are thousands of gods and goddesses, Mildred. I’m not sure which one I believe in, but there’s at least one I have faith in. I refuse to be part of a religion that hurts lesbians and other women. I was sad when I had to leave, but when I got older, I realized I could still believe. Spirituality is much different than religion. No rules, no punishments, just you. You can do whatever you want. It’s only what you make of it.”

Mildred left a kiss on Gwendolyn’s lips. “I love you.” Her hands found Gwendolyn’s breast and gave it a little squeeze. 

Gwendolyn groaned. “I swear to Selene, Mildred, don’t tease me with those magical hands of yours.” 

“You said you wouldn’t mind making love to me,” Mildred replied innocently, low and sultry. 

“I most certainly would not mind.” 

Gwendolyn carried Mildred upstairs, and they spent the afternoon tucked away in the sheets, and Mildred bled on them, but that was okay with Gwendolyn. Mildred surrounded in a river of red was gorgeous and reminded Gwendolyn of the beauty of being a woman, of being connected to the moon and tides and goddesses. Making love to Mildred right there, lubricated with her own blood, was like having her own beautiful goddess to touch, to love, to explore freely. 

Goddess Selene must have heard Mildred and Gwendolyn’s lovemaking, because two days later, Gwendolyn discovered her own little red dot in her underwear, one week before it was due to arrive, and she tossed the underwear into the laundry basket, aware Mildred would find them and understand that she was most definitely not swimming alone in the red river.


End file.
